


Need a Hand?

by BabyCharmander



Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:05:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyCharmander/pseuds/BabyCharmander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being the Intelligence Dampening Sphere means Wheatley tends to get himself in trouble a lot. Chell does what she can to curb the core's trouble-making tendencies, but it's going to take a lot more than a few time-outs to stop Wheatley from wreaking havoc...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need a Hand?

"…so I was thinking, yeah, it's been, what, two years? I think, anyway. Feels like yesterday, though! Or ten years. Not really sure, actually. Broke my internal clock ages ago and haven't been able to keep track of time since. This one time I remember I got lost in the facility, yeah? But I figured, 'ah, don't worry about it, Wheatley, you've got _plenty_ of time to get to work' and it turns out, I didn't! I was late to work in the first place, and it was, ah, about a day or so before I arrived, and by then I had been fired and replaced with a new construct that got promoted twice before I got there. Show-off. Anyway, where was I…"

Chell, who had long since mastered the art of ignoring Wheatley until he reached a point, did not look up from her book. He'd been chattering away like this for a while, and if her rough guesstimate was right, he would probably get to whatever point he was trying to make in about two and a half minutes, if he didn't completely forget it by then.

"…and then he said, 'yeah, well, you know those management bots, you gotta watch out for them, 'cuz they're the ones with the—' Oh! That's it!"

Then again, her calculations could be off sometimes. Setting her book aside, Chell looked up at the blue-eyed core, who was staring down at her excitedly from his rail.

"Okay, so, I was saying that it's been about two years since you brought me here, yeah?" he said. He was gesturing with the claw that attached to the back of his connector, as he had gotten used to doing for the past year or so that he'd owned it. "So it's a sort of—sort of _anniversary,_ you could say. And there's a thing I know about humans—they like to give each other _presents_ on their anniversaries. You get what I'm saying, here?" He waggled his upper handle up and down a few times.

Chell groaned inwardly, rubbing her eyes with her hand. _Not this again._

"I was thinking… for a present…" He glanced off to one side, then to another, making empty, random gestures with his claw, stretching it out, curling it up, snapping its pinchers—in other words, trying in the subtlest way he could to draw attention to it. "Maybe… You know, since _you_ have two hands, maybe I could… you know."

Without looking, Chell reached up, grabbed Wheatley's claw, tugged on it, and shook her head.

"Awww, but why _not_?" Wheatley moaned. He sagged on his rail, as though about twenty pounds had suddenly been added to his weight and was pulling him closer to the floor. " _You_ have two hands, why can't _I_? Well, I mean, not hands; that'd look odd—claws, right… two claws!"

Tilting her head back, she gave the core a sideways glance.

His cracked blue optic stared into her icy blue eyes for a moment before it glanced away. "Right, right, I know—'if you can't use your one claw properly, you're not getting a second one.'" He turned back, his upper handle lowering to imitate a brow furrowing. "Well, I _have_ been using it properly!"

She stared at him blankly.

The core faltered. "Well—um, right, okay, so there was that thing a couple days ago when I uh, pulled out all the books from the bookshelf and forgot to put them back, and… and okay, maybe I did accidentally spill that orange juice out of the fridge last week, and… and when you left the that one door open this morning and I decided to see if I could toss some o' the stuff that was sitting on the counter into that—that seat-type-thing… odd that it has a hole in it, though—"

Chell was barely able to hide her mounting horror as she finally jumped off the couch, rushing into the bathroom.

"Oh. _Oh_. Did I say that? No, absolutely did not—um, what I meant to say was, that, er, someone—someone broke into the house while—while you weren't looking, and started, sort-of…"

Sure enough, she flipped on the light switch to find a tube of toothpaste, a toothbrush, a hair brush, and a few different-colored hair ties floating around in the toilet.

"Did I—did I ever mention all the very, _very_ helpful things I have done for you in the past year or so?" he called out from the living room, his voice hiking up in pitch. "Like—like fetching the newspaper—though I might have accidentally torn it with my claw a bit, um—and uh, doing the laundry—except… y'know what, nevermind, I did the laundry and that was the important thing, and—"

His speech broke off as Chell marched up to him and grabbed him by the handles.

"Oh, nonononono, it's—it's okay, I'll, um, I'll pull them out! Well, er, I could if you would let my rail extend into that room, anyw _aaaaaay—_!"

With a forcible tug, she yanked him off of his connector and set him on the couch before heading into the kitchen to retrieve something.

"L-look, lady, I didn't mean it, okay? I was just—um… well, actually, no, I did intentionally throw those things in, but I—I didn't know it would… um…"

 _No, Wheatley,_ she thought, resisting the urge to rub her forehead in frustration. _There's no way you can talk yourself out of this one._ Looking up at the fridge, she spotted a small whiteboard with a dry-erase marker attached to it and snatched it up, taking it into the living room, where Wheatley had tipped himself upside-down on the couch in an attempt to roll away. She grabbed him by the upper handle, set him upright, and began writing on the whiteboard.

Being mute really wasn't too difficult for a problem solver like Chell, but when it came to "discussing" things with Wheatley, she found she sometimes needed a bit of extra help. To save on paper, she'd purchased the small fridge-magnet whiteboard to use when she needed to talk to him about things that required more than just a few hand motions.

"First of all," she wrote, "it's not even close to the anniversary of when I found you. That was in late spring." Once she was finished writing, she turned the board so Wheatley could see.

The core's optic darted across the letters. "Oh. Well, we're close to spring, aren't we? Nearly there."

Flipping the pen over, she used the eraser tip to clear the board so she could begin writing her new message. "It's early winter."

 _Plink, plink._ "Oh."

"Second, stay out of the bathroom." She underlined this for emphasis.

Wheatley read over the text, and his upper lid drooped. "But the door was open! It's okay for me to go into a place if the door's open, right? I mean, I can open doors too, but…"

"There's a reason your rail doesn't go into there."

"But—"

She placed a finger on the lower side of his faceplate— _shush_. "Third, you're not getting a second claw. If you don't stop asking for that—"

Chell paused. For a moment she contemplated erasing what she had of that second sentence, but, after thinking it over, decided to finish it.

"—I'll throw you out into the snow bank."

Once the whiteboard was turned over, Wheatley's eye shields narrowed and upper lid lowered, first in disappointment, then in confusion. "But—but what's a snow bank? Banks are places where you keep your money safe, right? So why in Science would you want to make a bank for snow? It's everywhere! No need to keep it safe. If you lose it, or it melts, you could just go outside and get more."

Chell gave a silent laugh, shaking her head.

"No? That's not what a snow bank is? Then… what is it, exactly?"

Setting aside the whiteboard and pen, Chell reached out, grabbed Wheatley by the handles, and carried him to the front door. Switching him over to one hand, she opened the door with the other, welcoming in a gust of chilly air and a few flurries of snowflakes. Wheatley shivered, more from the feeling of the wind than the actual temperature. She tapped his side, then pointed down at the inch or so of snow that blanketed the ground.

"That?" he murmured, blinking. "Y-you mean the snow on the ground? That's the snow bank?" His optic contracted. "B-but lady, you said that snow, it's—it's _water_! A-and if it's water, I could—I could short circuit!" He pulled his lower handle closer to his body as his optic contracted in terror.

Chell only rolled her eyes—she'd found out that water was _not_ a danger to him after he'd somehow dropped off of his rail and fallen into the kitchen sink a month or so ago. It hadn't hurt him, but it had scared the living daylights out of him, and he seemed convinced that it was a fluke that the soapy water had not damaged him, and that it would most definitely kill him next time.

"Y-y-you wouldn't do th-that to me, would you?" he stammered, voice suddenly very small.

She blinked back to the present, surprised to find that Wheatley was genuinely terrified of being tossed out into the snow. She'd only meant it half-seriously, but if it would shut him up about that claw… Fixing him with a hard look, she nodded.

"Oh, _gosh_ ," the core whimpered, pulling his faceplate as far into his casing as it would go. "H-h-ha, ha, well, th-then, you won't s-see me—er, h-hear me ever talk about—um, what was it I was asking for? Um—well, look at that! Can't even remember. Ha. Nope. So there's that. No reason to throw me into the snow bank."

It took every bit of self-control to keep herself from grinning widely as she stepped back and shut the door.

 _It worked_. Her threat had actually worked! Maybe now he would stop asking her about that claw, and keep himself out of trouble! But speaking of that…

"So, um, could—could you put me back on my rail, please? If—if that's all right? Please?"

Technically she hadn't punished him yet for getting into her things, _again_. Wordlessly she turned around, looking toward the laundry room.

Wheatley immediately knew what she was getting at. " _NOPE_!" he cried, forcing a very nervous grin. "Hahahaha don't need to do that, haha, nope, learned my lesson—gonna, gonna stay out of your stuff, and the—the bathroom, yes, not gonna… hahahaha _don't do it please._ "

…Okay, _maybe_ just this once. Threatening to toss him into the snow bank had successfully frightened him, so maybe she could skip the time out. Heaving a sigh, she hauled him back over to the connector, holding him out so he could attach himself to it again.

" _Oh_ , great, tremendous, thank you," he said, attaching to the connector and immediately relaxing. He flexed his arm a few times now that he had control over it again. "You won't see me misusing this again, nope! _Perfectly_ obedient. The most obedient robot you'll ever see."

Somehow she doubted that.

Seeming to sense her incredulity, Wheatley cocked his optic, giving her an offended look. "I _mean_ it this time! I really do! Not gonna get myself into a _bit_ of trouble, right?"

Chell only rolled her eyes, patting him on the side of his hull before heading into the kitchen, where she donned a pair of rubber gloves in order to fish her things out of the toilet.

* * *

Quite few days after that, Chell was rather impressed to find that Wheatley had stayed true to his word and kept himself out of trouble. She had returned home from work the next day to find him reading a book quietly—though, of course, he had immediately began chattering at her excitedly the moment she came into view. She'd tuned out his usual ramblings as she made a quick run-through of the house to make sure nothing was out of place, and was pleased when she found that to be true. The same thing had happened the next day, and for once, she began to have high hopes for the little core.

Of course, it would only be so long before those hopes crashed down into the depths of disappointment. This was Wheatley, after all.

Upon returning home from a rather hectic day of work, Chell wanted nothing more than to crash down onto the couch to rest for an hour or so before making dinner. When she went to do just that, she failed to notice that a few crucial things were missing until her forehead rammed into the arm rest.

With a silent yelp of pain, she sat up, rubbing her head as she looked around the room wearily. When she didn't find what she was looking for, she frowned. Where were the pillows?

Wheatley darted into the room, optic lit in a bright smile. "Ah, you're back!" he called cheerfully.

A bit _too_ cheerfully.

"Thought I heard a 'bump' or something and—and—oooh, are you okay?" He maneuvered himself around to the front of the couch, tilting his optic. "Looks like you've got a—a nasty bump on your head, there. Where could _that_ have come from?"

Chell fixed him with a look that blatantly said, _what did you do this time._

Wheatley's optic contracted a little. "Ah—what's that look for, luv? What, d'you think I've done something? 'Cause I haven't. Haven't done a thing, nope. I've actually, been, um, _productive_ today, yeah!"

Still rubbing her forehead, she stood up, taking a closer look at the core. There was something on his lower handle—it looked like flecks of red and yellow and a few other colors. And, now that she looked closer, she spotted more of it on his claw.

Seeming to guess what she'd noticed, Wheatley's optic contracted farther. "Um. About that—I was painting. Looked around, found some paints, figured, 'hah, what a great idea! I'll surprise the lady by painting her something pretty.' But um, it didn't turn out, unfortunately."

So Wheatley had tried his claw at painting, and the pillows were missing. These events were linked, and she was starting to get an idea for how. She reached out, grabbed Wheatley by his lower handle, and slowly pulled him closer, giving him a glare.

_What did you do._

"I-I-I…" He twitched, looking every which way but at her. "I didn't do anything, mate! Really! I was t-trying to do something _productive_ , is all!"

Well, then. She was hoping she wouldn't have to threaten him with this again, but he was asking for it. Grabbing him by both handles, she pulled him off of his rail and began to carry him over to the door.

"What are you—oh, no, nonononono don't do that _nooo_!" he cried, struggling in her grip.

She ignored him, opening the front door and letting the gust of cold air hit him.

"OKAY! _OKAY_!" He flailed for a moment, and she nearly dropped him. "I decided to try painting the pillows because I thought they looked ugly but it made them look worse so I tried to wash them in the washer don't throw me out _please_!"

He'd decided to… _what_?

Chell kicked the door shut, and whirled around to march into the laundry room, still carrying the core by his upper handle. He seemed relieved that he wasn't about to be thrown outside, but, depending on just how bad this little incident had gone, he would probably have other things to worry about. As she opened the laundry room door, she couldn't help but notice the paint that stuck to the doorknob. Of course, the door had been shut earlier, so he would have had to open it. But if he was carrying…

She looked down, and immediately looked away, cringing. At least he'd spilled the paint on the kitchen floor rather than the carpet. Though he shouldn't have been bothering with the paint at _all_.

Opening the door, she prepared herself for the worst, and found herself smacking her hand into her face. There was oil paint all over the outside of the washer, and, inside, a couple of very soggy, very much ruined pillows. Sitting beside the trashcan was an empty tube of cadmium yellow oil paint, and inside, a few other tubes of paint, also empty. Those were the paints from when she'd been taking art therapy—she'd been planning on getting back into painting sometime, but now…

"Um. Th-that _does_ come out, right?"

Chell turned to glare at the core.

"Oh. You've—you've got something on your…"

She rubbed her hand to the side of her face and pulled it away to find purple oil paint—the stuff on the doorknob hadn't even dried yet.

Oooh, that did it.

Quickly she set Wheatley atop the drier before storming back into the kitchen, washing her hands and scrubbing the paint off of her face. She wasn't about to get even more paint all over her house.

"Lady! Lady, I, uh, think you—um—forgot something… F-forgot… forgot to attach me back to my rail, and all… um… I'm sorry about that paint, by the way. Just, y'know, thought it might be a good idea…"

_Wheatley, you are the Intelligence Dampening Core. When do you ever have good ideas._

Too frustrated with the idea of having to clean up this mess after a long day of work to properly scold the core, she marched back into the laundry room, grabbed the core by his upper handle, and grabbed something else from the corner.

Wheatley, if he could have, probably would have blanched. "Oh, oh, _oh_ , ah, no, no, no need for that, lady," he said, voice taking on a slightly higher pitch as she hauled him out to the living room. "Really, absolutely no need—I've learned my lesson, completely, totally, never gonna do that again, never gonna get into the paints—um, well, can't do that again anyway, since there's, heh, n-no paints left—ah, see? N-no reason left to, ah, p-punish me, so—oh no no no what are you doing NOO—!"

She set him in the corner of the living room, and, before he could roll away, placed a turned-over, plastic laundry basket over his frame.

" _NOO_ NOT THE BASKET DON'T DO THAT!" he cried, flailing his handles in a frantic attempt to knock the laundry basket away.

Ignoring his cries, she used one hand to hold the basket down while she reached out toward the coffee table with the other, picking up a few large, heavy books and placing them on the basket to weigh it down. She'd quickly learned after the first time she'd put him in "time out" like this that he could, with some work, tip the basket over, though he would usually just wind up trapping himself in it again anyway. The thick hardcover books, however, provided enough weight to prevent him from doing that.

"Auuuugh I said I was sorry!" he moaned. At this point he already sounded almost like he was on the verge of tears, but there was that hint of melodrama that she'd picked up on that gave away that he was faking it. "Please let me out, lady; I'll help you clean up!"

She glanced up at the claw that hung from his rail, noting the paint still covering it, and shook her head.

"B-but…!"

Having had quite enough of the core's antics for tonight, she heaved a sigh, fetching a few washcloths from the kitchen to clean up the mess of oil paints, if she could even get it all out.

"LADYYYY I'M SORRRYYYYY!" The cry was followed by a few thwacking noises—he was trying, and failing, to shove the basket off of his head. But she ignored him, soaking one of her washcloths in warm, soapy water and starting to scrub the floor.

What was she going to do with him?

She eventually let him out from under the laundry hamper later that evening, after she'd cleaned up his mess and carefully washed all the paint off of his claw. He'd been talking and whining and begging the entire time until his voice glitched into a static quality, not unlike a person speaking with a sore throat. It had happened to him before, and Chell knew that his voice would repair itself in a few hours.

He'd assured her through a few static-y coughs that he wasn't going to be getting into any paints anytime soon, which wasn't the greatest promise he could make, given there were no paints left. But, using the small whiteboard, she emphasized the point that if he was going to continue doing things like this, he would not get a second claw.

"I—I won't do things like that, ever again, lady! You can count on me!" He gave a very obviously forced smile before twitching and giving a few static-filled coughs. "Oh… but please don't put me in that basket again—I think it's—I think it's bad for my, um, throat."

She lightly hit him over the hull with the edge of her whiteboard before returning it to the kitchen.

* * *

Chell could tell that Wheatley really was trying to keep out of trouble. That, or somehow prove himself worthy of owning a second claw. (Just why he really needed a second one, she never could figure out.) She'd warned him to not bring it up, and he didn't, but he repeatedly, not-so-subtly implied that a second claw would be useful as he helped her with different chores around the house.

"Oh, look at that," he said as they were folding laundry one evening. "Foldin' those shirts really well with your _two_ hands. Doing expert work, those hand _ssssss_ —hands, plural, 'cause you've got two of them—of yours."

Part of her wanted to remind him of her threat, but then, he wasn't explicitly asking for a second claw, so that wouldn't be entirely fair. So she only ignored him, shoving a few unfolded shirts in his direction while she went to fold the socks.

"Oh, you sure can fold those quickly," the core noted as he grabbed one of the shirts, spreading it out flat on the table with his claw. He carefully folded the material, taking much longer than he normally would have. "Takes me quite a long time with just _one_ claw, you know."

Chell fought the urge to roll her eyes in exasperation, but decided it would be best not to respond.

Wheatley eyed her for a moment before halving his already-slow speed. "Oh, this takes _so_ long…"

Heaving a sigh, she turned around to snag her whiteboard off of the fridge before scribbling a quick message: "You can still fold shirts properly, and that's very helpful, no matter how long it takes." Hopefully that would dissuade him.

He read over the message a few times, his eye shields making a light _plink, plink_ noise as he blinked. As soon as she put the whiteboard away, he took the next shirt and quickly folded it backwards.

Chell only shoved the core aside and began folding the rest of the laundry by herself.

"Ah, see? Expert folding! With _two_ hands."

She chucked a pair of folded socks in his direction, which was finally enough to get him to shut up for the night.

The next few days were like that, with the core's constant, not-so-subtle notes that having two limbs would be incredibly useful popping up in every conversation, throughout nearly every activity of their day. It got to a point where Chell was seriously considering expanding her threat to include subtle and non-subtle implications, and fortunately, an opportunity to do just that presented itself rather quickly.

When she came home one afternoon with a sled full of groceries, Wheatley was eager to help, hanging by the door as she guided the sled to the doorway. He would reach down to grab one of the bags before wheeling it into the kitchen while Chell carried a few bags alongside him. She usually bought more groceries in winter to keep herself from having to make constant trips to the store—it was always a pain to trudge through several feet of snow to get there. That usually meant buying more canned food and preserved foods—basically, things that wouldn't go bad quickly—though that also meant some of the things she bought were in glass jars.

As she carried the groceries in, she noticed Wheatley's stealing a few glances at her. Once he saw he had her attention, he began his usual ramble: "Ah, carryin' _two_ bags at a time, eh? That's gotta be useful—gets work done _twice_ as fast, and all." He set his single bag down on the counter and rushed off to grab another. Though the bag wasn't particularly heavy—no heavier than the bags he had carried in earlier—he strained at the weight of it, his jointed arm stretching. "Oof—bit heavy, this," he said with a wince, struggling to carry it into the kitchen. "Might help if I—y'know—had _two_ claws to carry it with… 'cuz with only _one_ claw, I might—might not be able to carry the weight, and—"

And Wheatley, quite intentionally, dropped the bag onto the floor, resulting in a few _clunks_ and _crunches_ of broken glass jars.

"…Oooh. Oops," he said, pulling his claw away and holding it close to his spherical form. "N-now how did _that_ happen? Must've—must've been because _one_ claw couldn't support the wei—aAAAIIIT WAIT STOP—"

Chell roughly grabbed the core by his handles and yanked him off of his rail, holding him up so she could glare into his optic. There were five jars of food in that bag—five jars that he'd just smashed for his stupid demonstration, and five jars she was going to have to go out and trek through the snow to purchase again. Adjusting her grip to hold him by his upper handle, she pointed at him, then pointed at the fallen bag, which was now leaking.

"H-hey, don't look at me like that! That was an accident!"

Her eyes narrowed further.

"Um—well… well… If—if I had another claw, this wouldn't have— _ack_!"

Striding over to the living room, she set him on the couch before rushing back into the kitchen to retrieve her whiteboard. She then wrote: "You were implying that I should give you a second claw. Remember what I said before?"

He read over the message and gave her a nervous grin. "R-right, um, a second claw—right, _implying_. I never outright _said_ that you should give me one."

"From now on," she wrote, "'implying' counts as 'asking.'"

Wheatley's optic contracted. " _Oh_."

Setting the whiteboard aside, she grabbed the core by the handles once again, carrying him over to the still-open door.

"Oh, nonono, don't…!" he whimpered. "Y-you—you didn't throw me out those other times! You wouldn't d-do it this time, would you?"

She was considering it.

"I-I promise, okay? N-no more—no more implications, all right? Don't want another claw—don't need it, obviously, so I'm not gonna… not gonna ask for it or imply or—or even _hint_ at it, right?"

She nodded, setting him back on the couch. He heaved a sigh of relief, watching as she grabbed the last few bags, put them on the counter, and put her sled in the storage room before shutting the door.

"Whew. Well, there we go. Now that that's all settled, I think we can just attach me back to the ol' management rail, and I can get back to helping you—wait, wait, lady, what are you doing? I'm over here—on the couch, you left me on the couch, not over there in the kitchen or in the laundry—wait, wait, no, you're not— _don't—NOOO_!"

And once again, the core spent the night trapped under a laundry basket while she cleaned up the mess of broken glass and preserved fruit on the kitchen floor.

* * *

She'd had to go back to the store to purchase a few more jars of preserves the next day, but finally, _finally_ , it seemed Wheatley was done with his annoying insistence on getting a second claw. It appeared her threat to throw him out into the snow was still frightening enough to keep him from trying anything, but even if that eventually lost its effectiveness, she could still resort to the laundry hamper if she had to. While the hamper didn't scare him much, he disliked it enough to want to avoid it again.

Admittedly Chell felt a little bad for Wheatley, as the next several days after the grocery incident, he'd been on edge, as much as he tried to hide it. He'd claim he wasn't scared, but he'd always be looking over his non-existent shoulder at her even when doing something completely innocent, such as reading a book. She'd even stopped to reassure him a few times when he'd outright asked her if she was upset about anything. No, she'd explained, she wasn't upset so long as he kept himself out of trouble and shut up about the claw thing.

"Ah, right, um, no—nooo mentioning that—that claw… thing. Nope. Got my lips zipped. Well, I mean, except I don't have lips, or a zipper but, um… see?" He pulled his claw across the front of his face, intending to mimic the motion he'd seen her use before, only to catch his claw on his lower handle and accidentally disengage himself from his rail with a yelp.

She caught him before he dropped, setting him back on his rail with a silent laugh, but he pulled away from her in fear.

"Agh—nope, sorry, didn't mean to—ah—um… I-I-I'm not in trouble, am I?" he asked, his optic contracting in a terrified expression.

She shook her head with a half-smile, rubbing his upper handle on the joint before going back to what she was doing.

Honestly, Chell could do without Wheatley's constant worry, but she knew he would get over it in another day or so. He still wasn't asking her about getting another claw, and hadn't for some time now, so, she figured, perhaps this was all over and done with. She wouldn't have to deal with his nagging, and he would learn to be content with just a single claw. Maybe he would even learn to keep himself out of trouble.

Eventually the core's nervousness eased, and life went back to normal.

It then came as a surprise to her when, a couple weeks later, she came home to find Wheatley strangely absent.

Usually Wheatley was right at the door, waiting to tell her one thing or another as soon as she stepped in. Sometimes he might be elsewhere in the house, performing some task or other, but those times he would always come out to greet her as soon as he was aware she had come home. On very rare occasions he would be so absorbed in what he was doing that he didn't notice her presence for a minute or two, but that was usually when he was watching TV or reading a book that he could actually focus on.

So when she stepped through the door and waited, her brow furrowed in confusion when the energetic little core did not come bounding toward her on his rail. The TV was off, so he wasn't watching that, and he wasn't sitting on the couch, reading a book, either.

Where was he?

At first she was worried that perhaps someone had broken into the house and stolen him, but she'd definitely remembered locking the doors before leaving, and there was no evidence of a break-in. The more likely reason, she realized, was that he had done something that would get him in trouble—or that he thought would get him in trouble—and was hiding.

Immediately she began searching the house, looking—one, for the core—and two, for whatever it was he had wrecked. The new pillows were still on the couch, and nothing seemed out of place there. The TV was intact—though given how much Wheatley loved the thing, she couldn't imagine why he would try to break it anyway—and all the books were on their shelf. There was nothing wrong with the kitchen that she could see: nothing was out of place, there were no plates or cups smashed on the floor, and Wheatley was not wallowing around in the sink. Next she checked the laundry room, and there was nothing there but old cadmium red stains she'd been unable to clean out properly. The storage rooms yielded nothing, and Chell was left in the middle of an empty house, dumbfounded.

Where the heck _was_ he?

It occurred to her that maybe he had been moving around as she'd been checking the different rooms, so she set aside the worry that he might have been stolen. Still, she doubted that the core was playing some elaborate game of hide-and-seek with her for the heck of it, and figured she would find out just what he had done to get himself into trouble soon enough.

Heaving a sigh, Chell strode up to the bookshelf, snatching up a paperback and flopping down onto the couch. She would figure out what that core had done later, after unwinding from work with a nice b…

What the…?

Blinking, Chell sat up, opening and closing the cover a few times… or trying to—only the lower half of the cover opened, while the upper half stayed, for the cover had been cut cleanly in half. She opened the book and flipped through it, noting cut marks all over the pages, and even some corners of the pages missing entirely. She almost always purchased used paperbacks and some of them weren't in the best condition, but she didn't remember buying any like _this_.

She crouched by the book shelf again, pulling out a few more books to find that many of them were in a similar condition, some of them with large chunks of pages or even whole pages missing entirely. Looking down at the floor, she spotted a few tiny fragments of paper scattered in front of the bookshelf, and, after examining the contents of one of the trashcans, found where the missing parts of the pages had gone.

Oh, Wheatley, you were going to have a _time_ explaining this one.

Immediately she dropped the book she'd been holding and stormed into the laundry room, looking around to see if she could spot the offending core hiding in there. She found nothing hanging from the rail, but perked up at hearing a whirring noise behind her.

Spinning around, she rushed to the front doorway, looking to see if he was there, only to hear the whirring noise again.

This went on for a minute or so, but the core was always too quick for her to spot. But eventually he gave himself away with a series of sounds:

_Whirrrr—CLICK!_

"AAAGH!"

_CRASH!_

Cringing, Chell stormed into one of her storage rooms to find her carefully-stacked boxes now toppled over onto the floor, a lone connector and two claws hanging from the rail, and, somewhere in the middle of the mess, a quivering core making a very poor attempt at scrambling away from her. Before she could properly glare at him, she did a double-take, staring at the connector on the rail.

…Why was there a pair of scissors hanging from the connector by a strand of wire?

"H-h-hey, pssst! I—I think he went th-that way!" Wheatley stammered, jabbing his lower handle in the direction of the kitchen. "B-better catch him before he—AGH!"

Chell hoisted him up by his upper handle and pointed at the pair of scissors.

"Ha—ha—what're you pointing at, lady? Um, I didn't do anyth—"

She shook him and pointed at the scissors again.

"O- _oh_!" he said, voice glitching up to a higher octave. "Th-that! Almost forgot, I uh… well… um… You said I couldn't ask for a second claw, n-not even hint at it, so… so I didn't! See? Didn't ask or hint! I figured I would… u-um… make one myself! And—and that thing there looked well enough like a claw, so I figured…"

Chell had long since buried her face in her free hand.

"But, um, it's a bit sharper than I expected, but, hey, I used to tear the newspaper with my claw, but I learned to stop doing that, so I figured, practice makes perfect! Though I do have to use, um, my other claw to be able to use the new one, and… and… and lady, are you feeling all right? Your face looks… sorta red—you're—you're not getting sick, are you? Oh—hey, where are we going?"

She stormed out of the storage room with the core in tow, and began marching toward the front door.

"Wait—wait—wha? Nonono, don't do that." There was a hint of worry to his voice, but otherwise he didn't look terribly frightened, even when she opened the door. "Please don't, lady—I won't do it again!"

Chell was angry, but she hadn't lost rational thought. It was getting very, very cold outside, but the snow was not terribly deep—they'd had an odd warm spell for a few days and much of the snow had melted, so there was only about an inch or two outside. If she actually did throw him outside into that, she could very well damage him from hitting him against the cement walkway.

"C'mon, don't do it—just, um… I won't get into the junk drawer again! Okay? How's that sound? Won't go playin' around with that sharp claw-type-thing… So, you don't throw me outside—or, or trap me under a certain-thing-that-will-not-be-mentioned-because-laundry-baskets-are-horrible-things—and I don't try to make myself another claw! Sound fair?"

Breathing out through her nose, Chell shut the door.

"Oh, tremendous! Well, now that all that's behind us, I guess we can let bye-gones be bye-gones? Whatever that means. I guess it means we let our problems say, 'goodbye, I'm gone' or something, but that doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but, um, the point is, you won't put me under that thing again, will you?"

Glancing toward the laundry room door, she considered it for a moment before shaking her head.

"Wait wh— _really_? You won't? Oh, that's _amazing_! You're—you're a saint, lady!" Wheatley spun in his casing, nearly causing her to drop him. However, she did not return him to his rail; rather, she set him on the couch and went into the kitchen to do something out of his line of sight. "Wait, wait, what are you doing?" he asked, and she could hear him straining to see her, though it was impossible from where he was sitting. Once her task in the kitchen was done, she moved to the bookshelf, retrieving a few things from there before moving them into the kitchen. "What are you doing? What…?"

Chell snatched up Wheatley by the upper handle again, taking him into the storage room where his connector was still suspended from the rail. She untied the wire, removed the scissors, and hooked Wheatley back onto the connector, grabbing him by the claw and guiding him into the kitchen.

"W-well, thank you for not, um, punishing me, lately, but what are…?"

There, on the kitchen table, were all the books he'd torn up, alongside all the paper scraps she'd fished out of the garbage can, as well as a roll of tape. She pointed at Wheatley, then at the items on the table.

"What? D-do you… do you want me to _fix_ that?"

She nodded.

"But—but that'll take all night!"

Chell smiled, patted Wheatley on the side, and went to making dinner.

"You… you know what? I think I've changed my mind—that laundry basket is sounding _really_ good right now…"

She ignored him, and, grumbling, the core set to the task of taping the books back together.

* * *

It really did take Wheatley all night to finish repairing the damage he'd done. All night, and partway into the morning—and by then Chell was convinced that the core had learned his lesson. He swore off of books for a few days after that, deciding to spend his time watching TV and watching the snow fall outside, neither of which would cause any trouble.

Finally Chell was convinced that Wheatley would give up this silly second claw business, and, for once, stop wrecking things with his _one_ claw. It may have been a little foolish to have such high hopes about the Intelligence Dampening Core, but as the days ticked on and Thanksgiving gave way into the Christmas season, Wheatley still had not done anything majorly wrong, and Chell was sure this was finally over.

So their life went on as usual, Chell going to work five days a week and Wheatley lounging about the house, reading patched-up paperback books, watching TV, and talking Chell's ear off when she let him. And, honestly, life was good…

But the bad days would always come.

There would, every so often, be rotten days at work. Sometimes her coworkers would get on her case over her muteness when their supervisor wouldn't overhear, and occasionally she would get nasty customers who would get upset when she wouldn't talk to them, even when she tried her hardest to explain that she _couldn't_. It was after one of _those_ days, after trudging through several feet of snow as the enormous flakes fell around her, that Chell came home, carrying a thick wad of papers—her taxes.

"'Ello!" Wheatley chirped as she dragged herself through the door. "How've you been, lady?"

She eyed him with something close to a glare. While she wasn't angry at him at the moment, she didn't want to have to deal with any of his nonsense tonight.

Wheatley seemed to pick up on this immediately, and backed away, his upper handle lowering. "…Oh. Rough day, then?"

She nodded, shedding her coat, gloves, boots, hat, and scarf, before putting those away and marching into the kitchen. She tossed her papers onto the table.

"Ah. Had my fair share of those back at the facility, let me tell you—"

Turning to face him, she pressed her finger to her lips, and took a seat.

"…Right. Well, then, um…" He fidgeted on his rail—evidently he'd been eager to talk to her when she got home. Suddenly he perked up. "Oh! How about I make you some coffee then, while you do that, uh, paperwork, or whatever that is."

Okay, so maybe Wheatley wouldn't be too bad tonight. Chell managed a half smile and nodded before sorting through the papers.

"Good! Tremendous. I'll get that for you, then." With that, the core darted into the kitchen, preparing the coffee pot. She'd taught him to do it a number of months ago, and after a few messes and a few pots of either overly-strong or incredibly watery coffee, he'd managed to make it quite well.

"So, I was watchin' the telly this morning, and…"

Oh, great. Frowning, she gave him the motion to zip his lip, which worked, only for him to start talking again a few minutes later. Apparently she would have to deal with his never-ending prattle as she worked, she thought as she chewed the cap of her pen. This would be a long night, but at least the coffee he made was good.

Eventually she set the paperwork aside to make herself dinner, but only a quick serving of instant ramen. As she ate, she tried listening to Wheatley's babble, wondering if he had anything interesting to say.

"…and so they blew it up. Can you imagine? They seem to do that a lot. I think ol' Rick back at the facility would have liked that show, y'know, if he ever watched the telly. Which he couldn't—I mean, no real TVs around there—none that have any shows other than 'We Are Experiencing Technical Difficulties,' which gets _really_ dull after the first season. Boring. Anyway, where was I—oh, yeah! They're getting into that Christmas thing again, say it's comin' up soon, and all these places are having Christmas sales…"

Christmas already? She'd barely had time to register Thanksgiving. Heaving a sigh, Chell handed Wheatley her dishes to put into the sink, and went back to work. It seemed like ages as she filled out the pages of paperwork, going through different records and punching numbers into the calculator that she'd fished out of the junk drawer. Finally when she was getting toward the end, she noticed the odd peace that had settled over the room—Wheatley had stopped talking. Looking up, she found him staring at her expectantly, and blinked.

"Er, did you hear me?" he asked, glancing down at her coffee cup. "I noticed you were out of coffee, and I was wondering if you wanted me to refill your mug."

Chell's gaze turned toward her mug. She'd finished it some time ago—it had taken him a while to notice. Though she was nearly done with this work, another mug of coffee wouldn't hurt. It would be nice to sit back and read a book as she drank, once she was done. So, nodding her head, she picked up the mug and held it out to the core.

"Great! Be right back, then." With that, he snatched up the mug in his claw and went to fill it up.

Meanwhile, Chell was working on the last few lines of paperwork, thinking about how nice it would be to let herself unwind and read a book for a while after this awful day.

"So, um, since Christmas is coming up soon, and all, I was thinking…"

Chell looked up for a moment, and then shook her head. No, he couldn't possibly…

"Christmas is a _bit_ different from other occasions, innit? And… and you haven't gotten me much of anything this year, so…" He wiggled on his rail, seeming excited as he carried the mug of hot coffee to the table. "I was thinking for Christmas, you could get me my _second claw_!"

He must have meant to make a gesture at that point as he swung his claw out, and Chell had to jump backward out of her chair to avoid the cascade of coffee that was flung at her.

_SPLASH!_

Both core and human cringed back before leaning closer to inspect the damage. There was all her paperwork, quickly absorbing the dark brown liquid that had fallen right on top of it.

Chell stared in shock at the paperwork she'd nearly completed—it was ruined.

"…oh…" came Wheatley's very small voice, which was immediately followed by a _clunk_ as the empty mug slipped out of his claw.

Slowly Chell turned to face him, and he returned the look, his pupil contracted to a near-invisible pinprick. They stared at each other for a long moment before Wheatley took off down his rail.

"I DIDN'T MEAN IT, MATE! IT WAS A COMPLETE ACCIDENT! DON'T KILL ME, DON'T KILL ME!"

Chell was after him in hot pursuit, her eyes narrowed in to a dangerous, wild glare. Oh, she could very well kill him after _that_ one.

"I SWEAR! I SWEAR TO SCIENCE I WILL NEVER PICK UP A COFFEE MUG AGAIN!"

That wasn't the problem and he knew it. If he hadn't been so _stupid_ as to go on about that claw _again_ …

After a few minutes of chasing him around the house, she finally grabbed hold of his lower handle. "Nope nope _nope_!" he whimpered, struggling to get away, but she only clamped her hand around his upper handle as well. "Please don't kill me…!"

With a forceful tug, she yanked him off of his management rail and hauled him over to the front door, which she opened. Much to her surprise, he actually calmed at the sight of the deep snow bank and the flakes blowing all about.

"Oh, _this_ again?" he asked, suddenly swapping his fearful expression with an annoyed one. "Come on, lady, you and I both know you don't have the heart to throw me out there."

With a bolt of anger, Chell pulled Wheatley back. _Wanna bet?_

"Wait—wait, what are you doing? You're not actually—no, you're just trying to scare me. Well, it's not gonna w—AAAAGH!"

And with a great heave, Chell chucked the core out into the cold air, where he screamed until he hit the snow with a soft _crunch_. Before she could hear any sort of protest, she slammed the door shut and strode back into the kitchen. _That_ would teach him.

Glancing over at the table, she saw that the coffee had dripped onto the floor, and, heaving a sigh, she snagged a soapy dishrag from the sink and began to clean up.

The writing on her paperwork was now illegible—there was nothing she could do but fill out a new one at another time. Then there was her coffee mug—the handle had broken off when it had fallen. She tossed the papers into the garbage and set the broken mug on the counter, contemplating gluing it back together before tossing the handle. She could use a pen holder, anyway.

With the mess cleaned up, Chell grabbed a different mug and made herself a new cup of coffee before sitting at the couch with a paperback. It was nice and quiet tonight, and she might actually get somewhere with this book. After a few moments, she considered retrieving Wheatley, but, she thought bitterly, it wouldn't hurt him to stay out there a bit longer. She'd drag him back in when she finished this chapter.

As the evening ticked on, Chell became absorbed in her book, eventually forgetting just why it was so quiet but appreciating the silence nonetheless. It wasn't until her thumb brushed against a piece of tape that she remembered Wheatley. Right, she'd thrown him outside.

…How long ago had that been?

She sat up, setting her book aside, and turned to look out the window, where there were still large snowflakes falling. Three things then occurred to her:

She lived in the Upper Peninsula.

It was snowing.

And she had thrown Wheatley outside.

Chell leaped off of the couch, rushed to the closet to throw on her snow gear, and burst through the front door, flinching at the icy wind. It was dark outside, and thanks to the freshly-fallen snow, she almost couldn't make out the dent that marked where Wheatley had landed. The snow bank was several feet deep—how was she going to get Wheatley out of _that_?

Grimacing, she shoved her way through the deep snow, squinting as the flakes fell around her. Guided only by the light shining out from her open front door, she pushed forward, digging through the snow with her gloved hands. As she moved forward, her leg banged against something metal, and the muffled cry gave away just what—or _who—_ that something was. She dug through the snow, blinking at the bright blue light that suddenly shone in her face. Reaching down, she felt his handle and clasped her hand around it, pulling upward and showering snow everywhere.

" _AH-CHOO_!" came Wheatley's voice, followed by a few coughs and _brr_ s as he shook in his casing, knocking a few chunks of snow loose.

Chell dusted the snow off of him as best as she could, only for more snow to fall. All the while, the core continued to cough and sneeze and shiver. She carefully carried him back to the doorway, and, holding him by both handles, gave him a very strong shake. One huge clump of snow fell out from his innards, and finally she carried him inside.

"Wh-wh-what took you so b-bloody long?!" Wheatley stammered, still shivering as she held him under her arm, kicking off her boots. "I-I thought you were gonna leave me out there all winter! For months! Years! I was getting ready to eat off my own handles to keep from starving!"

 _Except you don't even have a mouth or stomach to do that, and you don't even need to_ eat, Chell thought as she continued to remove her snow gear until she was left with the long-sleeved-shirt and blue jeans she'd started with. She left her snow clothes soaking on the floor in front of the closet, but she couldn't do the same with Wheatley, who was still covered in snow. Heaving a sigh, she began to carry him into the bathroom.

"And it was _dark_ in there, lady! I mean, yeah, it's dark under the laundry basket, but it's _dark_ -dark under all that snow! And—and I'm bloody _scared_ of the dark! Have I mentioned that? No? Because I am—do you know how bloody frightening it is to be stuck in some dark place and never—wait, isn't this that room you never let me in?"

Chell tossed a dry towel over his head and left the room.

Which turned out to be a huge mistake, for immediately the core began screaming and failing his handles until she rushed to set him on the couch and adjusted the towel so his optic could see out.

"DON'T DO THAT!" he cried, optic narrowing. "What was I _just_ saying, lady?! Just got stuck in the bloody dark for _days_ , and then you throw some sheet over my optic and put me in the dark again! Unbelievable!"

Chell winced as she took a seat next to him, and he squirmed around to face her with another glare. As much of a pain as he had been for the past few weeks, she _did_ feel bad for leaving him out in the snow like that. She'd only meant to leave him out for a few minutes, not a few _hours._ And, apparently, he wasn't going to let her hear the end of it.

Wheatley paused, blinked a few times, then began to cough again. "And—and not to mention I think I'm getting _sick_ from being out there! Ah- _choo_!" He gave an unconvincing sneeze, and began to shiver. "It was bloody _cold_ out there, and—and humans get sick in the cold outside, and, well, cores do too! Ah- _choo_!"

She wasn't sure of that, nor was she sure if robots could even feel cold, but he was right in that it couldn't have been the least bit pleasant out there. Looking him over, she noticed that the snow was melting over his casing and soaking into the towel.

"What're you staring at?" he grumbled, fidgeting his handles. He then blinked once, twice, and his optic widened, pupil contracting. "Is—is that…? Is—oh no. The—the snow's melting—it's _melting,_ lady, and it's—it's turning into _water_!" Immediately he began to squirm, his optic rolling in its socket. "WATER! I'm going to short-circuit! No, nonono!"

Chell reached out to rub the towel over his frame, but yanked her hand away when he began flailing.

"Nononono—! It's—it's in my casing!" he cried, his tiny light-blue pupil nearly lost amidst the black of his aperture. "It's getting into all the—the—um, wires and electronics and… everything…" His flailing slowed, and he began to go limp, twitching a few times. "Ooooh… I'm d-done for, mate, everything's going dark… it's… I can't see… I… _oooh_ …" Promptly he snapped his optic shut, and went completely limp.

She stared, waiting for the core to drop the act, but he didn't. He was just being melodramatic—he had to be. Heaving a sigh, she placed a hand on his side and shook him, but he gave no response. Blinking, she tapped on his faceplate, but still he didn't so much as twitch. …That hadn't really hurt him, had it? He'd fallen into soapy dishwater before with no problem… though she had thrown him _outside_ , and maybe the cold water could do something to his circuitry that warm water couldn't?

Still she waited, her worry growing more and more with each passing second that the core did not respond. Finally, just when she was about to believe that he really _was_ shorted out, she noticed his optic open a crack.

" _Pssst_ ," he hissed, trying to keep his voice low and failing. "This is the part where you're supposed to be sobbing over my dead body."

She felt no remorse in striking him over the head with the largest book within reach.

"OWWW! Ooooowww ooooh lady that _hurt_!" Wheatley moaned, optic rolling. "Okay, okay, so maybe water can't _kill_ me, but it still is bloody uncomfortable!"

Giving him a disgusted glance, Chell rose from her seat and walked into the kitchen, retrieving her small whiteboard.

"I mean, you threw me _outside_! There's about twelve feet of snow out there! And I fell underneath most of that, and it melted, so logically that means there'd be about _eleven_ feet of water on me! Bloody soaked—can't you—"

She wrote on the board and shoved it in his face: "None of this would have happened if you hadn't been insisting on your second claw idea after I told you, several times, not to."

"Pshaw—what?" He tilted his optic and gave her a funny look. " _You_ were the one that threw me outside, lady!"

She gave him an equally-annoyed look before writing, "I told you I would."

Wheatley blinked. "Yes—well—um, you shouldn't have! Still water and snow and cold and dark out there, I still could have been _hurt_ , and—" He twitched and began to squirm again. "Oh come on lady I'm covered in water could you _please_ …?"

Heaving a sigh, Chell set the whiteboard aside and began to rub the towel over his casing, drying off the water that covered him. Even his insides were soaked, and she tried to stick a corner of the towel into his side to dry the inner part of his casing.

"Hey, watch it, lady, I'm _fragile_ , you know," he grumbled, though he didn't seem overly-concerned as he glanced at her lazily.

When she went back to drying the outer part of his casing, she noticed that Wheatley seemed to be leaning into her hand, much like an animal that appreciated being petted. She pulled her hand away and hid her face in it in exasperation. _Oh my goodness, Wheatley, you're supposed to be punished for wrecking my paperwork and still insisting on that stupid claw idea, not…_ Grabbing a section of the towel again, she continued to try to dry him, only for him to lean against her.

She'd had enough of _that_ , and the towel had become too soaked to continue to dry him any further anyway. She shoved the core off to the side and yanked the towel away from him, standing up to head into the laundry room.

"Hey, what?" Wheatley blinked, now tipped over onto his side on the couch. "Come back here, lady! I'm still soaked!"

Soaked, no, but his casing wasn't entirely dry yet. Chell tossed the towel into a nearby hamper before heading into the bathroom to retrieve a clean towel. She then set Wheatley upright before draping the towel over him.

"There, that's more l— _HEY_!" Wheatley blinked a few times before glaring as Chell scrubbed the towel roughly over his casing. "What d'you think you're doing, treatin' me so rough after throwin' me out in the cold to fend for myself?"

 _Trying to get you dry_ , Chell thought, her brow furrowed in annoyance as she continued.

"Guess there's no such thing as handling a _core_ gently, huh? No—he's just like a bloody football, isn't he?" Wheatley grumbled, lowering his upper handle like a furrowed brow. "Yeah. No sympathy for the core that just spent a _week_ out in the sn— _EEE_!"

Chell jumped back, staring wide-eyed at the core. She had never heard a sound like _that_ come from him before—what on earth had that _been_?

Wheatley looked just as surprised as she did—his eye shields were wide and his pupil had contracted to a pinprick, but after a moment, he shook his face, blinking. "Not—not sure what just happened there. That was… anyway." He motioned with his upper handle. "Carry on, but _gently_ this time?"

Chell complied, but ignored his instruction to be gentler, instead continuing to scrub his casing. She just wanted to get this over with so she could take her shower and go to _bed_.

She swore she heard a faint sound before Wheatley gave another high-pitched yelp. "R- _really_ , lady, w-watch what you're doing!" he cried, though oddly enough, his lower lid was pulled up in a smile. "Just—just gotta get me dried off, is all."

But Chell was beginning to get an idea for what was going on, and continued to scrub him roughly to confirm her suspicions. She listened over Wheatley's protests, and then she heard it—the faint _flick_ of static electricity.

" _EEP_ —ha, ha-h-haha… Wh-what are you doing, lady?" he stammered, trying to glare at her and failing. "I t-told you to—"

Grinning, Chell continued, and didn't stop when the core yelped and began to giggle. Her suspicions were correct—the static electricity made him _ticklish_!

"WHAT—HAHA—NO, NO— _STOP—PFFFHAHAHAH—S-STOP IT_ , L—HAHAHAHAHA, OH, HAHA, _STOP_ —!" He had begun squirming, trying and failing to get away from her due to the arm rest beside him. He could hardly speak, barely getting out a word before the laughter overtook him again.

At one point, Chell had to stop to give her arms a rest, and Wheatley rolled his optic before it came to a rest on her. He stared for a moment before bursting into laughter all over again. She fixed him with a look— _now what_?

"Y—your—haha—y-your h—hahahaha!"

Blinking, she felt around her head and discovered just what he was laughing about. Her hair was sticking out every which way—apparently he wasn't the only one affected by the static. Giving a shrug, she went back to scrubbing him with the towel.

"WAIT—HAHA— _WHAT_? That's—haha—n-not f-faiiiahahahahaha…" Wheatley continued laughing and squirming, and Chell was certain that, had he been human, he would have had tears streaming down his face. After a while, he finally blurted out: "Uncle! Aunt! _THIRD COUSIN_! I give—hahaha— _I give up_! J-just—haha—stop! I—I'll st-stop it—haha—about th-that claw th-thing if you j—hahaha _STOP_!"

Finally Chell backed away, grinning. _Well_! She hadn't expected that, but if that was really what got him to stop going on about that stupid claw, she would take it.

"Ha… ha… oooh…" Wheatley leaned forward, falling on his face. "Never d-do that again, mate."

Chell only moved the towel away so she could pat his casing. He tensed for a moment, but relaxed when she didn't start another attack of static electricity. She picked up the towel and moved to put it back in the bathroom, but paused when she heard Wheatley speak again.

"Okay, so… nothing about that claw." He pushed himself up on his upper handle, and turned his face to fix her with a hopeful grin. "So then, how about a pair of legs?"


End file.
